“I’m sure you’d gladly accept those whispers.” Shoulders moving as you sighed before your finger began to slowly move again. He knew not to keep talking until you finished the page.

When your finger felt the last word you reached to your lap for the book mark and carefully put it in closing the heavy book.

“why have you hidden away in here?” Maekar was more direct this time.

“please, I’d just like to enjoy my morning husband.” Neither of you really enjoyed being in kings landing. You did not know your way around well, you needed an escort constantly and there were just so many people and those people were not used to you. It was as if they forgot how normal interactions were suppose to go.

Pity and concern was laced into almost every interaction you had here. Some people meant well, The Queen, your good mother, surely did but her hands rushing to fix your tea for you or help you sit down and always reminding people to not stare, dispit you not knowing they were, was draining.

“I don’t have any desire to be on display. Watched like an animal somebody’s taught to do tricks.” You bitterly muttered and got up from the window seat and walked right past Maekar to bed.

“who is doing this?” His jaw clicked as it clenched.

“It would be easier to make you a list of people who is not.” You sighed as you sat on the edge of bed and shifted under the covers. The maids had made the bed despite you suggesting they just leave the room as is. You had no plans to be out of bed much at all on this day.

“Who?” He sat behind you and pulled the blankets down a bit so you were covering half your head with them. “I would like to have a word with them.” He huffed. Offended on your behalf as he always was when these issues came up. It was as if nobody had any level of decorum.

”I fixed Rhae’s hair while I had tea in your mother’s solar and they clapped when I finished.” You stayed turned away from him. “All of them. Her and her ladies! It was a simple three stand braid to keep her hair out of her eyes while she played with her cousin and they bloody clapped!”

Maekar’s forhead came down to rest on your shoulder while he rubbed his hand up and down your back his strong fingers easily feeling the knots. He would not of brought you here unless he had to, a summons from his father was hard to deny.

“I will speak with them.” He said evenly. Clearly having needed to pull his strength together to say it so evenly.

“and the maids keep putting things in the middle of the fucking floor!” You snapped while sitting up suddenly, like you’d just thought up an entire list of grievances. You had.

“language.” He stroked your cheek. Both of you were being more mindful because Aegon had taken to the fowl language gladly.

“Oh-fuck off Maekar!” You shoved him off of you. You just wanted to complain and vent, his little quips only frustrated you more right now. “You don’t understand what it is like…” your anger fading away and showing more of the sadness that lingered just below it.

“help me to understand. I want to.” His hand touched your backs hesitantly, incase you really were opposed to his touch.

“it is hard to explain.” You whispered knees pulled up to you shielding yourself some.

“try.” He pressed and you grumbled against your knees shaking your head. You said nothing for a long time just let his hand run up and down your spine for a few minutes.

“is it only my mother who’s offended you?” He asked and you laughed dryly.

“No…and I know she means well.” You whispered, legs going back down and you turned towards his frame moving into it so he could wrap you up.

“It’s everybody here.” You gripped his side and took in a steadying breath when his chin rested overtop your head. “It’s as if they think I just stand about wherever I am moved and wait to be told of something. Or for some entertainment to be handed to me.”

“they can not imagine you capable of living as they do?” He was almost certain that was the crux of it or he wouldn’t be so bold to state it outloud.

“it’s humiliating.” His thumb is rubbing your cheek now, lips pressing against your head every now and again. “They told me Aerion was handsome…that he was quite skilled with his sword in the training yards.” You frowned “as if I, his mother would not know those things without having a stranger tell me?”

You resented being reminded of what you missed out on witnessing hit it ate away at you that people imagined you were so disconnected from your family that you did not know the simplest things about them.

“Everybody is a fool.” Maekar groaned and you knew he actually meant it, even if some of those people were his own family. “What else?” He prompted ready to take in every complain you had.

“Gods the feasts it’s to loud. To many voices. I can’t follow any single conversations and you hardly wish to talk there.” You grumbled. He smirked against your hair. Of you were trickling into complains about him being antisocial than you were certainly feeling a bit better about things. “And the food…it’s all so bland here.” Which was true. Court catered to everybody’s tastes so half the food had none!

“you wish to return home?”

“yes…”

“I’m required to remain here till the end of the next moon.” He reminded you and you chewed your bottom lip.

“I know.” You wouldn’t ask him to send you home before him, because it wasn’t in either of your natures to be away from eachother long.

“Perhaps it would be appropriate though for you to take the little ones home? I’m sure they’d be more comfortable back with their maids and septas and Nan. I’d not want them to fall behind in their lessons.”

“…and I cannot let them return home without me.” You thought outloud and felt him nod.

“No, never.” He tipped your chin up and your kissed him softly.

“I’m sorry I pushed you.” You whispered against his mouth.

“I’ve felt worse.” He assured and you smirked against his mouth.

“from me I’ve no doubt.” You laughed and he squeezed your hip agreeing.

“I can arrange a wheelhouse for you and the three terrors within the week. Get you back to Summerhall.” It really was your personal oasis.

“Can you wait until I’ve departed to go on your rampage?” You asked him fingers in his hair sitting up a bit more now that you felt heard and supported.

“I plan to, I’ll not have time for that until your departure?” He started to shift you back and before you could make any sort of comment asking him what exactly he meant by that you felt his mouth attacking your neck and hands squeezing your hips as he crawled over you.

Maekar Targaryen already plans to devour your body every single day and night until you leave. He’d not gone long without you and so he felt he had to ensure both of you had plenty of pleasure before having to abstain due to distance.

You hardly were able to notice people’s demanding language or their whispers comments about how you walked or sat or blood breathed because Maekar did not let you up from bed. Those whispers became true. He took you day and night until both of you just laid there limply against eachother.

He honored you and body each day until you left. He made good on his word and exhibited patience not saying anything until you were gone. But the moment he saw you, Daella, Egg and Rhae wheeled out the gates of the red keep he turned to his family and made his thoughts on their behavior and treatment of you very clear!

The next time you were required to be in kings landing it was for Prince Valarrs wedding to Kiera. You assumed that everybody’s demeanor was changed because of that event and having plenty to keep them busy. In truth it was still the lasting impacts of Maekar informing everybody that you were not a fool that needed to be handled with pillowed fingers. His deliver had apparently been quite memorable!

You were his very competent wife and mother to his children, and you would be treated as such! Not coddle or pitied, but respected.

Maekar Masterlist

—※—

But where would you go?

Home?

Could you really go home?

You had already shamed your family once. And now there was this. Your stomach twists as you try to repress the tears burning behind your eyes and swallow back a scream of desperation caught somewhere in your throat, wanting to get out.

Pull yourself together.

You can go home. You can hide there for a while. Keep out of sight until everything settles. Give everyone time to forget.

Perhaps he will forgive you.

He will, surely.

He can still marry the Tyrell girl. No one needs to know how close the heir to the Iron Throne came to making a mistake. The prince will forget you. And that will be the end of it.

The thought should bring relief. Instead, the ache in your stomach slowly creeps upwards until it settles beneath your ribs, cold and sharp like a sliver of ice against your heart.

He will forget me...

You press your forehead against the warm neck of your chestnut mare and close your eyes. She gives a soft whinny, shifting beneath you as though she knows something is wrong. You breathe in the familiar scent of horse and leather, letting the solid warmth of her body anchor you to something real. One breath. Then another.

A single tear escapes despite your efforts. You wipe it away with the back of your gloved hand before finally pulling yourself into the saddle.

"Be brave, girl," you whisper, patting her neck.

You gather the reins.

"Let's go home."

For a moment, you sit there without moving. You are not entirely sure which one of you the words are meant for.

—※—

Approximately Three Moons Earlier

The arrival at the port is every bit as chaotic as you feared.

It takes hours to unload the ship, the servants, the trunks and, most importantly, the horses. The poor animals are nervous after the long journey, stamping and tossing their heads as they are led down the gangplank. It would have been far easier to hire horses once you reached King's Landing.

Your mother and Matthew had been quite adamant that only poor nobles rented their mounts.

"It will look better for House Mullendore," Matthew had insisted.

Your father and you had thought it ridiculous. Unfortunately, neither of you had been asked.

By the time everything is finally unloaded, several other noble houses have arrived as well. The docks grow more crowded by the minute, until you are almost relieved when you are finally able to climb into the small wheelhouse Thomas managed to rent.

The ride toward the Red Keep is no quieter. Your mother and both your good-sisters complain about the smell of the city almost all the way up Aegon's Hill. And you have to admit, some of the smells are truly dreadful. 

But there is so much else to see. People everywhere. More people than you have ever seen gathered in one place. Merchants shouting from their stalls. Children running between carts. Fishmongers arguing over prices. Fine silks hanging beside rough wool. Foreigners speaking in languages you cannot understand. The city is loud and dirty and overwhelming.

You love it.

You find yourself leaning toward the window of the wheelhouse whenever you can, trying to take in everything at once.

By the time you reach the Red Keep, your head is buzzing.

—※—

Your family's chambers are handsomely decorated and filled with cheerful chaos.

Servants hurry in and out carrying trunks. Someone is calling for more blankets. Someone else is looking for a missing jewellery box. Through it all, lady Sarah moves with remarkable calm.

"That trunk goes in Ser Thomas’ chamber. No, the smaller one. The medicines in the chest beside the bed, please. And be careful with that one." She manages to sound as though she has been running households all her life. She will, after all, be the Lady of House Mullendore one day.

Sarah has patience to spare. Still, when she finally looks at you, you can tell she has already had enough for one day.

"Are you alright?” you ask her, a little worried. “Will is sound asleep on your bed. He wanted a story, but he was so tired that he fell asleep half way through it.” She smiles and briefly takes your hand, giving it a little pinch. “Thank you.”

“Sarah, do you know where my mother is?"

"She went to lie down for a while." Sarah gives you a sympathetic smile. "Her nerves are getting the better of her. It has been a long journey."

You nod. A long journey indeed. You knock once before opening the door to your parents' chamber. Lady Josslyn is already lying upon the bed, one hand pressed dramatically against her forehead. In this state you dare not even ask her how she is doing.

"Mother?"

“Hm?”

"May I be excused for a little while?"

One eye opens.

"I have a bit of a headache," you continue carefully, "and I think a walk might do me good. I would also like to check on my mare. The crossing was hard on her."

Your mother's expression tightens. "It was hard on everyone."

"May I go?"

She waves one hand. "Yes, yes. Go." Then, remembering herself, she adds, "But take Wilfrid. Or Hawley."

"Of course." You lean down and kiss her cheek. She is already closing her eyes again by the time you leave.

Outside your family's chambers, you find Wilfrid asleep upon one of the larger travelling chests. The old guard has been part of your household since before you were born. He snores softly. You press your lips together. You almost make it past him. Or so you think.

"Trying to give me the slip again, young lady?" His eyes remain closed.

"I would never." You turn towards him with an innocent smile. "I'm merely concerned for your wellbeing. You need your rest."

"Ha." His bushy eyebrows rise as he finally opens his eyes. "You do know how to bring it."

You laugh. "I was going to fetch Hawley."

"Hawley's still with the horses."

"So he is." You look down at your shoes for a second. "Which... is perfect. I can meet him there."

One eyebrow rises higher than the other. Wilfrid makes an effort to get up. "I shall take you to the stables."

"No, please don't." You fold your hands behind your back. "If you bring me to Hawley, I shall be stuck with him. And you know perfectly well he is no fun."

"He is doing his duty."

"He is breathing down my neck."

"He does that for a reason, my lady."

"The keep is overflowing with noble lords and ladies. Surely no harm can come to me between here and the there. And I will look for Hawley, I promise."

Wilfrid snorts. "And you are going straight to the stables?"

"As much as the corridors allow me to go in a straight line."

He gives you a long look. "You have always been very good at sounding sensible." A pause. "But you are a terrible liar."

"I shall still take that as a compliment," you joke.

"I wasn't complimenting you."

You grin. "I'll bring you something sweet on my way back." You tilt your head and give him your most innocent smile.

That finally earns you a dismissive wave. "Off with you, then."

You are halfway down the corridor when you hear him mutter behind you. "Ha, troublesome little bird." You pretend not to hear, still you can’t help but chuckle. 

The corridors are crowded with nobles and serving folk, all moving in different directions. People call out to friends, servants hurry past carrying trays, and somewhere nearby a small group of nobles is laughing loudly enough for half the keep to hear them. It is easy to disappear in the chaos. Easy to become just another face among hundreds. 

You have spent most of your life wandering the grounds around your father's castle. On foot. On horseback. With guards when you absolutely had to have them, and without them whenever you could manage it. You know better than to wander into the deepest parts of the woods alone. You know not to go into the Red Mountains without someone who knows the paths.

But the farms? The little villages? Those have always been yours to explore.

You know the families there. They have come to expect you sooner or later. You always helped when a child or animal was sick, carried food when a harvest was poor, and once stayed for a nameday feast and danced until your feet were too sore to stand.

That was where you met...

You stop the thought before it can finish. Not here. Not now.

You ask a passing serving woman for directions to the stables. She is clearly in a hurry and points vaguely down one corridor. You thank her and follow it. Only after several turns do you realise you have taken the wrong path. 

Ahead, high arches open onto a sunlit courtyard. Beyond them, green stretches down the hill. The royal gardens. You have heard so much about them that curiosity wins the argument before you can even pretend to resist. You step beneath the archway and a sigh escapes you.

For once, you discover that the stories have not been exaggerated. The gardens are even more beautiful than you imagined.

—※—

Terraces tumble down Aegon's Hill in layers of green and bright colour. Roses climb pale stone walls, their scent perfuming the warm air. Bees drift between all kinds of exotic flowers. Somewhere nearby, water trickles on marble. Standing on the first terrace, you can look out over Blackwater Bay. It feels like an entirely different world from the bustling keep behind you.

You wander without any particular destination. Perhaps that is why you notice the little wooden gate hidden beneath a curtain of climbing ivy. Curiosity has always been your greatest weakness. After making certain no one is watching, you lift the latch. The gate opens without protest.

Beyond lies another garden. Quieter. Beds of rosemary, thyme, sage and lavender fill the air with their fragrance. Grapevines and small fruit trees cast patches of shade across narrow gravel paths.

You step inside.

The path slopes gently downhill, almost inviting you to follow it. Small birds chatter among low hedges. Bees hum busily between the herbs, paying you no mind at all. You smile to yourself. This is your sort of place.

You follow the path for a while. A sudden burst of indignant chirping startles you. A tiny brown wren shoots from the branches of a young plum tree, scolding you fiercely for disturbing its afternoon.

"Oh." Your hand flies instinctively to your chest. "I beg your pardon, my lord."

The little bird only scolds louder. 

You laugh. "You are right, of course. I am trespassing."

"That is quite all right." The voice behind you is warm. Gentle. Entirely unexpected.

You turn so quickly you nearly lose your footing.

A man rises from a stone bench half hidden beneath flowering vines. He inclines his head politely. "I fear I startled you."

"You did." The words escape before you remember yourself. Your cheeks warm. "My lord... forgive me. I believed I was speaking only to the bird."

His eyes follow the little wren as it disappears into another tree. "I believe you are already forgiven."

You smile politely. Silence settles between you. Only then do you truly look at him.

Certainly a lord. Probably a courtier. He is older than you. Not old. Distinguished. Silver threads the dark curls of his hair at his temples and touches the beard along his jaw. His riding clothes and boots are of excellent quality, though his dark doublet hangs open as though he had expected no company. The collar of his linen shirt has been unlaced, exposing the strong line of his throat and the hollow at its base. Small dark hairs disappear beneath the fine cloth.

For one brief, scandalous moment, your eyes linger a little longer than they ought before you realise you are staring. You lower your gaze at once, far more embarrassed by your own curiosity than by the man's state of dress.

He seems to notice. A faint smile touches the corner of his mouth. "Wandering alone is a dangerous pastime." The man's tone is light as he resumes his seat upon the stone bench. "There are all manner of suspicious characters hiding in gardens."

You glance back at him, a little wary. But his eyes are smiling now. So, you cannot help answering in kind. "Well, fear not, my lord." A small smile tugs at your own lips. "Your honour is perfectly safe with me."

He blinks.

For a heartbeat, you wonder whether you have overstepped yourself.

Then he laughs. Not politely. Genuinely. "A great relief." His laughter settles into a grin. "I shall sleep easier tonight."

Your own laughter escapes before you can stop it. "Oh gods." You cover your face for a moment. "I've embarrassed myself."

"Quite the contrary." His smile lingers. "I cannot remember the last time someone assured me my honour was safe. It is quite refreshing."

"Then I'm pleased to have been of service, my lord."

"You are remarkably outspoken."

"So I've been told."

"And do you believe speaking your mind counts as a fault?"

"Oh no." You consider it. "Well... perhaps for a lady." You sigh a little dramatically. "They tell me that my mouth often begins speaking before my mind has caught up." 

A hand flies once more to your lips. "I've done it again."

"You have." He says it with such solemn conviction that you stare at him in horror. Then the corners of his mouth betray him.

"You mock me."

"Only a little."

"How cruel." You smile as you gently shake your head.

"I confess it is my first accusation of cruelty."

"Then today has been full of firsts for us both, my lord."

The man inclines his head with an amused smile. "So it would seem."

You feel a little emboldened by it. "Do you mind if I sit down, my lord?"

He gestures towards the other end of the bench. "Not at all."

You take a seat, smoothing your skirts beneath you. Silence settles again. Not awkward. Merely comfortable. The little wren returns to the plum tree across from the bench, loudly informing you both that neither of you belongs there.

"There he is again," you whisper.

"He believes this corner of the gardens belongs entirely to him. A fierce guardian." The man smiles.

"The fiercest." You watch the tiny bird hop confidently along the branch. "So very small."

"So very convinced of his own importance," he adds with a dry chuckle, following your gaze.

"Perhaps," you say softly, "or wren simply knows something larger creatures do not."

The man studies you for a moment.

You smile carefully. "I rather like wrens."

"They're easily overlooked." He still looks at you. You can feel it.

"Perhaps." You turn to meet his gaze. You notice his eyes are not quite the same colour. "I've always preferred looking for the little things."

He says nothing. Only watches you.

You look back at the bird, feeling a little vulnerable. "They might be small. But they survive. They're always singing. They adapt." You shrug lightly. "And somehow they're never quite where you expect them to be." When you finally look back, you find his mismatched eyes still resting on you.

"I suspect," he says quietly, "you are speaking about more than birds."

Your expression softens. "Is it terribly obvious?"

He smiles but does not press further. For that, you are grateful.

Instead, he says, "You are here for His Grace's nameday."

"I am."

"And you are from House Mullendore."

You blink in surprise. "You recognised our colours?"

Almost unconsciously, you glance down at your bodice, embroidered with tiny orange butterflies among black and cream fabric.

"I make it my business to notice such things."

You laugh softly. "Then you have a very good eye, my lord."

"It comes with practice," he responds solemnly.

"It must." You hesitate before adding, "It is my first visit to King's Landing."

"And your first impression?" the man asks with genuine interest.

You glance around the herb garden. "I believe I have already discovered the finest corner."

His gaze follows yours across the herbs and fruit trees. "I have always thought so."

"You come here often, then, my lord?"

"When I require a little peace."

You nod. "I understand that." You truly do.

A breeze carries the scent of thyme between you. Far below, the bells of the Great Sept begin to ring. You sigh. "I ought to return."

"So soon?"

"My family will begin wondering where I've disappeared to."

"They know you have a habit of wandering?"

You wince. "They know."

"I suspected as much."

You fold your hands in your lap. "My lord..."

He waits.

"I realise some might deem this conversation terribly improper."

"They probably do."

"And yet..."

"And yet."

"I'm rather glad I opened that gate."

"So am I." The words leave him almost too quickly. The man seems faintly surprised by them himself.

You pretend not to notice, choosing instead to watch a bee disappear into a cluster of flowering herbs. You can feel his eyes on you again.

"I never asked your name." He pauses. "Nor offered mine."

The man is about to continue, but you immediately lift one finger. "No, don't, my lord."

His brows rise. "Don't?"

"If I tell you my name..." You search for the right words. "...then you shall have to give me yours."

"A dreadful prospect, indeed." He tilts his head a little, looking amused.

You chuckle, shaking your head. "Not dreadful, merely impractical."

"And why is that?" he asks.

"Because my mother will undoubtedly ask whether I spoke to anyone I know whilst wandering the gardens."

"And you would have to answer honestly."

"I was taught to tell the truth, my lord."

"A commendable lesson."

"So..." You smile again. "If we remain strangers..."

"...then you have never met me?"

"Well, it gives me room to be a little bit more creative with the truth."

You spread your hands in a conciliatory manner before adding, "For now, let us simply be two strangers who happen to admire the same garden."

He pretends to consider this. "For now," he agrees.

You press your lips together. "For now."

A warm smile passes between you.

"Allow me to escort you as far as the main gardens."

You nod. "I should like that."

The man rises, lifting his riding coat from the stone bench and brushing a few leaves from the dark fabric before draping it over one arm. He offers you his hand.

You hesitate only briefly before placing your own in it. His hand is warm. Strong. The contact lasts only a heartbeat before he gestures towards the path uphill.

You continue together between the low hedges. The little wren darts across the path once more, chattering loudly as it goes. 

Soon you reach a fork where the path divides. One path climbs back towards the main gardens. Another, smaller one, disappears deeper among the herbs. The man stops. "I must take this one."

"And I..."

"...ought to take the other." He hints towards the larger path.

You both smile. "I shall go and find my guard."

The man inclines his head. "I wish you a pleasant afternoon, my lady."

"And you, my lord." You give a small courtesy.

He turns first. Long, unhurried strides carry him down the smaller path. The sun shining on his broad shoulders.

You remain where you are. Watching him as he walks away.

After several paces, the man slows. He glances back over one shoulder.

You are still standing exactly where he left you. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Mortified, you quickly look anywhere else. The man's smile broadens. His brow lifts as he mouths a single word.

"Go."

You laugh under your breath. "Yes, my lord." Only then do you turn uphill.

Behind you, unseen, he watches until you disappear through the small gate. Only then does he continue on his own way.

—※—

The festivities will not begin for another three days.

By now, the household has settled into the rhythm of life within the Red Keep. You and your good-sisters take walks through the gardens whenever you can. Once, you even manage to find your way back to the little herb garden and the stone bench.

The wren is there. The man is not. You are not entirely sure what you had expected.

On the third day, the great hall fills with guests.

It is even more impressive than the songs claim. The Iron Throne, however, looks somewhat smaller than you had imagined. Perhaps it is simply difficult for anything to appear quite so enormous when you are standing beneath it yourself.

You barely have time to think about it before the royal family begins to enter. Your good-sisters whisper excitedly beside you.

King Daeron the Good comes first. His hair is white, his face lined with age but still sharp and intelligent. Beside him walks queen Myriah. She is no longer young either, but you can still see the beauty she must once have possessed. An exotic beauty, if the stories are to be believed.

Then come the princes. The princesses. Children. Everywhere you look there are dragons worked into black and red silk. Your eyes move from one face to another, trying to remember all the names you have heard whispered on the journey.

"The Hammer and the Anvil," Lady Alana murmurs beside you. You follow her gaze as two more princes enter through a side door, deep in conversation. 

One is broad-shouldered, fair-haired and stern. The other is taller. Dark-haired. The colour of his hair catches the light, almost black against the red and black of his clothes.

Your breath catches. No. Surely not. 

The man from the herb garden steps forward beside the king. Only now is he dressed as what he truly is. A Targaryen prince. Someone near the front announces him.

"Prince Baelor Targaryen..."

Your stomach drops.

"Hand of the King..."

Your heart seems to sink straight into your slippers.

"And heir to the Iron Throne."

Oh. You close your eyes for the briefest moment. Of all the people in King's Landing… Of all the gardens… You had to open that gate. You had to speak to him. And, Seven help you, you had even flirted with him. Had you not? You slowly open your eyes again. 

Across the hall, prince Baelor is listening to something the king is saying. Then, as though sensing your gaze, his mismatched eyes find yours. Recognition flickers across his face. The corner of his mouth lifts. 

Your cheeks burn. If only the floor could swallow you whole. 

You silly, silly girl.

—※—

—※—

After your first night on the kingsroad, you wonder if leaving was not a terrible mistake.

Sleep never truly came...

A moonless sky cloaks the world in darkness. Your campfire seems pitifully small against the endless night, its flickering flames doing little to keep the shadows at bay. Somewhere beyond its glow, the forest creaks and rustles with unseen life.

Beside you, your mare shifts with a quiet snort. The familiar sound is strangely comforting in a unfamiliar world. You pull your cloak tighter around yourself. It is colder than you expected.

Lonelier too.

For the first time since leaving the capital, doubt creeps in.

What have I done?

You tell yourself you need to sleep. Instead, you spend most of the night staring into the dying fire. 

Whenever exhaustion finally drags you under, it is only for a few precious moments before another unfamiliar sound startles you awake again. A snapping twig. The distant cry of some hunting bird. The wind sighing through the trees. Each time, your heart pounds as though someone has found you.

When the grey light of dawn finally filters through the branches, relief settles over you almost as heavily as your weariness. Nothing has found you in the night. No search party. No brigands. No hungry beast drawn by the scent of your little fire.

You rub your tired eyes, feeling every bit as haggard as you must look. And this was only the first night. Gods help me... You truly have not thought this through.

You draw a slow breath, staring into the cold ashes. Even now, with aching limbs and barely a handful of stolen moments of sleep, you cannot bring yourself to regret leaving. 

Leaving King's Landing.

Leaving him…

It still feels like the right thing to do. 

Some wounds can only heal from a distance.

—※—

Around Five Moons Earlier

The raven arrives shortly after noon.

Beautiful black feathers. Clever eyes. An air of unmistakable self-importance. It is a little larger than most, its plumage gleaming almost blue where the afternoon sun catches it. The bird perches upon the back of the maester's chair as though the room belongs to him and everyone in it merely happens to be a guest.

"Well," you murmur, offering him a finger. "Aren't you a handsome fellow?"

The raven fixes one dark eye upon you. Then he fluffs his feathers and spreads his wings ever so slightly, displaying himself in all his glossy splendour.

You laugh. "I shall take that as agreement." To your delight, he allows you to stroke the feathers along his neck.

The maester chuckles softly as he crosses the room, carefully untying the little scroll from the bird's leg. "Vanity," he says, "is not a trait reserved for men alone, my dear."

"No," you reply with a smile. "It would seem not."

He carries the message towards the window where the light is strongest. Squinting at the dark wax seal, his brows rise ever so slightly. "Targaryen." The three-headed dragon is pressed clearly into the black wax. "Well now..."

Curiosity immediately gets the better of you. "A royal letter?"

"So it would appear." The maester’s thumb traces the edge of the seal without breaking it.

"I shall take it to my father."

"If you would be so kind." He smiles, already turning back towards the enormous leather-bound volume resting upon his desk. "The maesters of Oldtown have finally sent me Maester Tiberius' newest writings on the treatment of gout." His hand comes to rest lovingly upon the dark leather cover. "I confess I have awaited this book with considerably more eagerness than any raven."

A chuckle escapes you. "I never doubted it, maester."

The old man smiles without the slightest hint of embarrassment. 

You slip the small sealed scroll into the hidden pocket sewn discreetly into your skirts before making your way towards the door. Just before you leave, something makes you glance back. The great raven is still watching you. Perfectly still. His clever black eyes never seem to leave yours.

For one strange moment, you imagine him less a raven than a little black dragon perched upon the maester's chair. You smile at your own foolishness and quietly slip from the room. 

As you walk through the cool corridors of your family's home towards your father's solar, your fingers brush unconsciously against the little scroll hidden inside your skirts. You cannot help wondering what message the Targareyens might have for House Mullendore.

—※—

The invitation proves every bit as grand as you imagined. King Daeron's sixtieth nameday.

A royal celebration in honour of his grace... and of the miraculous recovery of prince Baelor, prince of Dragonstone, Hand of the King and heir to the Iron Throne.

It has been almost two years since Ashford Meadow.

What should have been an ordinary tourney became something the realm would recount for generations.

You remember your brothers leaving Uplands in high spirits, eager to ride in the lists themselves. They had spoken of renowned knights, magnificent armour, and the chance to see the princes of House Targaryen with their own eyes. They return altogether different. Quieter. The tourney itself is scarcely mentioned.

Instead, they speak of the Trial of Seven. The first in more than a century. Of the heir to the Iron Throne choosing to champion a hedge knight against his own blood. Of prince Maekar's mace. Of the dreadful silence that fell when prince Baelor collapsed.

You listen to every word.

Even your father, no great admirer of House Targaryen, sits in thoughtful silence before saying only, "An honourable man." Nothing more. Then, after a pause, "he fought because it was the right thing to do." You know there is no praise higher in your father's eyes.

You cannot help wondering what sort of man willingly stakes his own life for someone the world considers beneath him. Someone the world scarcely notices. A prince could have looked away. He could have left another man to his fate. Instead, he stepped forward.

That very evening, you add prince Baelor's name to your prayers. When word arrives months later that he has survived, the realm calls it a miracle. Quietly, you thank the Seven. Never imagining you might one day stand before the man himself.

That is… If your parents allow you to go. The invitation itself means little if your mother decides it would be wiser for you to remain at Uplands.

The thought settles heavily in your chest. King's Landing. The city of Aegon the Conqueror. The Red Keep. Its libraries and gardens. The Great Sept. The dragon skulls beneath the castle. You have read about them all. To come so close… Only to remain behind...

No. You have to ask. There is only one person whose answer truly matters.

The following morning you find your father exactly where you expect him to be. His solar. Lord Martyn sits surrounded by ledgers, letters and maps, the morning light spilling across the broad oak desk before him.

You knock softly. "Father?"

Without looking up, he replies, "come in, daughter."

You step inside. "Do you have a moment?"

"I imagine I do."

A faint smile touches your lips.

Your father still has not looked up from whatever account demands his attention. "You may sit." He gestures vaguely towards the chairs beside the hearth with the feather of his quill.

You obey. For several moments, only the scratching of parchment fills the room. You begin to wonder whether coming here has been a mistake. 

Then the scratching stops. The chair scrapes softly across the floor as Lord Martyn rises with a quiet grunt before crossing to the hearth. He lowers himself into the chair opposite yours, resting both hands upon its carved arms. He shifts once. Then again. Apparently deciding there is no graceful way for an ageing lord to sit. Only then does he look at you.

You open your mouth.

He raises a hand. "Please."

You close it again.

"I know why you have come." His jaw tightens beneath the neatly kept grey and white beard. You recognise that look. He wears it whenever duty forces him to disappoint someone. Your courage begins to falter. He is going to refuse.

For a long while he simply studies the cold fireplace. "When you were little," he says at last, "I often thought the gods had played some curious jape on me."

You look up.

"You were forever wandering where you ought not. Forever asking questions your poor septa could not answer." A faint smile appears. "Helping sick farmers' children." Another pause. "Birds with broken wings." The smile disappears as quickly as it came.

"And yet..." He looks at you. "You have always been the most sensible of my children."

You stare at him. Matthew is the heir and dutiful. Thomas has always been a marvelous swordsman.

Surely…

"Your brothers are good men," your father continues. "Strong men." He nods once. "But strength and good sense seldom travel together." A quiet sigh escapes him. 

"You, on the other hand..." His voice softens. "...were blessed with your own sort of strenght and sense." Silence. "Until..." Your father lets the sentence die. He does not need to finish it.

"I'm so sorry, Father."

"Nonsense." He dismisses the apology with a weary wave of his hand. "If blame belongs anywhere..." His gaze drifts towards the window. "...it belongs with those who failed to value what they were given."

Silence settles between you once more.

At last he speaks again. "Your mother believes it wiser for you to remain here."

You lower your eyes. 

Of course she does.

"But I disagree."

Your head lifts so quickly your neck protests.

"You will come to King's Landing."

For a heartbeat you simply stare. Then you are on your feet before you even realise you have moved. 

"You truly mean it?"

"I have found," Lord Martyn says dryly as you embrace him, "that I rarely speak in jest."

A laugh escapes you as you press a kiss to his brow. "Thank you father."

His broad hand rests awkwardly upon your shoulder before giving it a gentle squeeze. "Off with you."

Another pause. "And daughter..."

You look back.

"Try not to give your mother too much cause for alarm."

A smile tugs at your lips. "I shall do my very best, father."

"Hm."

—※—

The letter throws your household into precisely the sort of commotion you expect.

Before the evening meal is even served, your mother has summoned every seamstress she can think of. Three maids are sent scurrying through the corridors in search of a roll of expensive silk that, according to Lady Josslyn, simply must exist.

"It was blue," she insists.

"It was green, my lady," ventures one unfortunate maid.

"It was blue when I last saw it."

No one is foolish enough to argue a second time. An hour later, Matthew’s wife, Lady Sarah quietly discovers the missing silk exactly where everyone has already searched twice.

It is green.

Your mother never mentions the matter again. Instead, she discovers concerns of far greater importance. "We shall be presented before the royal family." She has barely taken her seat before she rises again, unable to remain still. "There will be princes."

"There usually are," your father replies, calmly buttering a piece of bread.

"There will be noble families from every corner of the realm." She continues, ignoring his tone.

"There usually are."

"And every one of them will be watching." Only now does she stop. She looks at you.

You lower your eyes to your nephew's plate instead, carefully cutting his vegetables into pieces small enough for a child of three. Little Will is far more interested in chasing peas across the table with his spoon than in the reputation of House Mullendore.

Lord Martyn finally looks up from his supper. "They will mostly be watching the king, my dear."

Lady Josslyn fixes him with a look perfected over more than thirty years of marriage. "You know perfectly well what I mean."

"I do." He tears another piece of bread. "My answer remains the same."

Silence settles over the table. Matthew shifts in his chair. Thomas reaches for the ale, changes his mind halfway and pours himself wine instead. No one says what everyone is thinking.

Lady Sarah rescues the situation. "I have begun making lists," she says, setting down her cup. "Travelling trunks. Fresh linens. Medicines. Provisions for the journey." Practical as ever. Without Sarah, you suspect House Mullendore might never leave Uplands at all.

Your other good-sister, lady Alana has concerns of a rather different nature. "I wonder whether prince Valarr is truly as handsome as everyone claims."

Thomas raises an eyebrow. "My lady wife..."

"Yes, husband?"

"You are married."

"I am perfectly aware of it." She smiles at him over the rim of her cup. "I merely wish to satisfy my curiosity. From a perfectly respectable distance, of course."

Thomas exhales through his nose, though the corner of his mouth betrays him. "So long as your curiosity keeps its distance."

"It always does."

Despite himself, Thomas smiles. Alana blows him an exaggerated kiss.

Lord Martyn closes his eyes for the briefest moment. Whether in silent prayer or silent resignation, you cannot tell. 

The moment passes and conversation drifts towards tourneys, feasts and the splendours awaiting in King's Landing. 

Your brothers begin discussing the lords they hope to see again. Old friendships. Old rivalries. The alliances House Mullendore would do well to strengthen.

Your mother, finally persuaded to sit, lets out a wistful sigh. "It is such a pity you are all married. But then again there are so many princes and so few princesses."

Matthew glances quickly at you, but decides the better of it. Instead he looks at his son Will. "You do have one handsome grandson." He says playfully. "Perhaps he shall return betrothed to a little lady or a princess." 

"He's three," Sarah says a little outraged, placing a protective hand atop her son's curls.

"It is never too early to think ahead," your mother replies in perfect seriousness.

Thomas snorts into his wine. This time even your father laughs. The sound surprises you. It has always been a quiet laugh. Comforting. You find yourself smiling too. Little Will notices immediately. He beams simply because you are smiling. For a fleeting moment, everything feels almost as it once did.

Lady Josslyn points accusingly at both her sons. "You may laugh all you like, but I found excellent wives for the pair of you."

Matthew reaches for Sarah's hand. "And so you did, Mother."

Thomas nods his agreement. "I have never once complained."

"You wouldn't dare," Alana says sweetly. That earns another ripple of laughter around the table.

As the conversation moves on, your mother speaks of eligible ladies and promising young lords. Of fortunate matches. Of bright futures. She speaks of everyone seated at the table. Everyone...

Except you.

Not once does she look your way. Not once does she wonder aloud what future might still await her only daughter. Perhaps she no longer believes there is one.

You lower your gaze to Will's plate once more. You are no longer certain which hurts more.

—※—

As impossible as it seems, the day finally arrives when House Mullendore is ready to depart for the capital.

The journey will take the better part of three weeks. Three days by road to Oldtown. Then the ship. Across the Summer Sea and into the Narrow Sea before passing through the Gullet, where Blackwater Bay opens towards King's Landing. You have traced the route so many times upon one of your father's maps that you no longer need to look.

Each sunrise carries you farther from home. The air changes with every passing day.

At first, the difference is so slight you scarcely notice it. Then one morning you wake to find the breeze carrying the unmistakable scent of the sea. It is unlike anything at home.

Uplands lies nestled against the foothills of the Red Mountains, where the days are warm and the earth drinks deeply of the sun. By afternoon, clouds gather against the mountain peaks before spilling sudden showers across the valleys below. Afterwards, the air smells of warm stone, grass and flowering citrus groves.

Out here on the water… The wind tastes of salt. It fills your lungs differently. Cooler. Heavier somehow, carrying the cries of distant gulls and the endless rhythm of the waves beneath the hull.

You find yourself lingering on deck simply to breathe it in. For the first time, you begin to understand why so many sailors spend their lives chasing the horizon

The rest of your family soon finds ways to occupy the long days aboard ship.

Lady Alana delights in every stop along the coast and repeats, often with great enthusiasm, every morsel of gossip her maid manages to coax from innkeepers, merchants and dockworkers alike. The ports of Dorne fascinate her most of all. "I swear," she whispers one afternoon, "one woman walked past wearing scarcely more than a shawl."

Thomas merely sighs. "I suspect she was fully dressed by Dornish standards."

"Then I would like to know those standards." 

Lady Sarah only smiles into her embroidery, wisely refusing to involve herself. Despite the rolling deck, she somehow continues managing the household as though she had never left Uplands.

Your mother relinquishes the task entirely, declaring herself far too afflicted by the motion of the ship to concern herself with servants, trunks or meal times. The captain assures her the crossing could scarcely be calmer. Lady Josslyn remains unconvinced.

Your brothers spend most evenings discussing the coming tourney. Who is likely to compete. Which old acquaintances may attend. Which friendships forged at Ashford might be renewed.

Your father does none of those things. More often than not, you find him sitting quietly beside the rail, watching the endless sweep of water. Sometimes you join him. Neither of you speaks. You never feel the need.

On the final evening, the captain joins you near the bow. "We shall make King's Landing by first light, my lady."

You look down. Little Will has fallen asleep with his head on your lap, one small fist still clutching the wooden knight his father carved for him before the journey. Carefully, you smooth a curl from his forehead. "Did you hear that, Willy?" you whisper. "We're going to see the dragons." He does not stir when his parents take him away.

You remain upon the deck long after everyone else has gone below. The breeze toys with your hair as the ship glides steadily through the dark water. 

Somewhere beyond the horizon lies Aegon's city. The city of dragons. Of songs. Of legends. A smile finds you despite yourself. Among so many thousands of souls… Surely one broken little bird will pass unnoticed. You want to believe it. Instead, your vision blurs. You blink quickly, brushing the tears from your cheeks before they have the chance to fall.

There is no one left on deck to see them.

—※—

“Rumours say the boy dancing with my daughter is your son.”

Your smile turned into surprise when you realised Prince Maekar Targaryen in the flesh was speaking with you. It was rare seeing the Prince entertain with guests; it was less rare seeing him sitting behind the Royal table with a judgmental frown.

“He is, Your Highness.” You answered after a quick bow.

“They are too young.”

“Too young for… dancing? Your Highness?”

“To propose to my daughter.” He snapped back with a gnashing tone, without even looking at you. He was too busy checking on his daughter to care about the offence caused by assuming your intention.

“It is not my son’s plan and neither mine.” You said with the same tone, leaving his title on the back of your tongue.

“Good.”

“Good.”

A thick silence fell between you as you both stood side by side, carefully ignoring each other. You were visibly annoyed by his assumption, but he didn’t care or didn’t realise it. Unable to put his position before his arrogance, you tied to the finger.

“Is your husband somewhere?”

“Would you like to ask him to stop my son from dancing with the Princess?”

“It was not my intention, but your suggestion is tempting.”

“I’m sorry, but it is not possible.”

“And why is that?” He asked sharply, frowning at you.

“My husband is at the family cemetery.” You served, meeting his gaze and enjoying the renewed thick silence, this time filled with the Prince’s embarrassment.

“My condolences.” He quickly said, moving his attention elsewhere.

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

From time to time, some guests walked by and bowed at Maekar’s presence. He could hear them murmuring as their thirsty eyes tried to catch something from you two. The message sent was clear; Prince Maekar was caught by Lady Stark. It wasn’t his purpose, and neither yours, but it didn’t matter. He was entertaining himself with you for a long time now, and withdrawing could only confirm their suspicions.

“I can ask my son to stop dancing with the Princess if Your Highness desires.” You said then, satisfied with your little revenge and not wanting to make things worse.

Maekar considered it. It would have been her last banquet for years, and most likely, she would have left Summerhall only on her wedding day, if there ever was one. Her smile, though, and her belly laugh as she was having fun with that boy melted his daddy heart.

“No. Let them.” His jaw tightened as he spoke, but he felt strangely good in seeing your tiny smile.

The tension between you two eased enough for your boldness to come out with a question. Or better, half of it.

“Do you danc…”

“No.”

The speed with which he responded turned off your affability toward him, and the silence that fell among you once again was for the awkwardness that followed your half-question. You wanted to go away, but you couldn’t, not without the Prince’s dismissal. Unlucky you, Maekar was having his little revenge, or maybe — deep inside him — he was just glad of your company.

Your eyes, all for your son until that moment, moved casually around the hall, noticing the small groups of guests pointing their attention at you. Some of them were smiling, while others were shaking their heads in disapproval. You knew the reason was the Prince's presence next to you, but you couldn’t do otherwise.

“The party is magnificent. I wish His Highness Prince Daeron a happy life with the princess.” You said then, to distract yourself from the gossiping.

“Thank you… Lady Stark.”

It was the first time he used your title and your name, not to mention the tone of voice with which he thanked you. He sounded soft, or at least respectful. Very different from the beginning. You couldn’t help but stare, in surprise at first, but then you found yourself appreciating the little details of his face, the elegance of the outfit and his bearing, half from his military experience and half from his Royal origins.

You were still staring at him when another Lord approached bluntly.

“My Lady, spare me a dance?” He bowed and offered his hand.

Maekar’s reaction was instant. “Are you blind? Lady Stark is busy. Go away.” He barked.

“Yes, Your Highness.” The man bowed and disappeared.

It was a matter of seconds, but his little show dragged even more attention. The turmoil that it caused inside you was impossible to ignore, though. It’s been a while since you felt at the centre of someone’s attention, and it was pleasant… very much pleasant.

“Presenting themselves as if I weren’t here. Unacceptable.”

“Indeed, Your Highness.”

Your approval was enough to calm him down and focus on you again. Maekar was slowly realising how pleasant your company was, and the attraction he felt was most likely for your not-so-submissive behaviour.

“I do not dance because I think it’s a foolish and useless activity.” He said then, as if he wanted to justify his earlier rejection.

“Agree. But it is a good, harmless way to have physical closeness. Especially if there is a certain interest.”

Maekar frowned and snorted. “Ridiculous.”

“Is it, Your Highness?” You smiled widely.

The question remained unanswered because your son and the Princess stopped dancing, and now he was looking for you. You walked away, without the Prince’s permission, without taking leave, without greeting him properly.

Maekar had thought that perhaps he could offer you an experiencing, a festivity. Your year has been so very bleak. You were alive, he felt like celebrating that every day he woke and so perhaps you would like to lavish in knowing you have become an entirely new age since losing your vision. That you’d grown and learned and adapted so much in the past many moons.

You also used to enjoy a good feast, dancing and gossiping and just having summerhalls walls open to guests. You always had commented in the past that you wished he would be more hospitable of visits of pleasure rather than ones of strict business. You had a sister that could travel the distance in this time…perhaps his brothers and their families could come.

He was determined to surprise you. He knew if you were told that you’d tell him not to host it, that there were skills you still needed to master before being infont of people outside of him, the boys and your staff. He told himself that you were being modest, that you could not see how much progress you’d made. He has gotten used to this new version of you, love softened all jagged edges and wobbles.

“Maekar?” You hadn’t even rolled over properly before you whispered his name. Mornings were groggy for you, the maester gave you tea to help you sleep most night because sleep still escaped you unless you were throughly exhausted. It was hard to feel like you were closing your eyes to rest when nothing changed when your kids opened or closed. The tea helped, but it did make you slow to start in the morning.

“Perhaps we can break fast here…just us?” You rolled over and when you shiver you realized that the bed did not feel warm, his arm did not weigh on your side and the back of your neck was not being tickled by the hair under his nose. “Husband?” You sat up feeling his side of the bed and then you escaped the twisted covers feeling for the bathing chambers door but it was opened.

He normally waited for you to wait…normally you remained in bed for a long while on your nameday. Maekar was always quite intent on ensuring all stages to the day were enjoyed by you. He’d start and end the celebratory day with his mouth against your cunt.

“oh-“ a woman’s voice said as the door opened. “You are awake already.” She bit her lip. You recognized her voice, one of the younger lady maids. Your more experienced ones must be wrangling the boys to the table for break of fast.

“can you call for my husband?” Your arms wrapped around yourself a bit. Unsure of what nightgown he had put you in last night. You’d mistakenly been in a scandalous slip when you thought the cotton was thicker and darker on quite a few occasions.

“he is preoccupied. A urgent matter im afraid. But the little princes have been terrorizing the cooks already, I will warn you my lady, your eggs may have some shells in them.”

You gave a soft laugh and then moved toward the trunk in your room so she could help you dress. When you felt her start to pull a corset against you your eyes blinked slowly. “Surly I have a gown more suited for a quiet break of fast.” You had no desire for dressing nicely, you knew Maekar cared little for the heavy detailed gowns and now that you could jot enjoy them yourself you study to simple things. It was only the five of you anyways.

“if that is what you desire m’lady.” You nodded and held your arms back up for a simper thing to be placed upon you.

There is as a loud noise and then it cut out quickly when your hands felt at the door to make your way around it.

“Boys?” Surly that noise had not just come from them? You had three sons not fifty.

“Mother everybody come to celebrate you!” Aerion beamed and your face fell. It dropped so quickly that the temperature in the room when with it and you got pale. Maekar stepped around Aemon who was standing shakily on his two feet while holding to lady Jenas skirts. She could not get enough of a fill of the toddler.

“Pardon?” You swallowed and when Aerion went to repeat himself Daeron flew his hand over his brothers mouth the seal it. He could see father’s surprise was going poorly.

“what people?” You said to nobody specifically. Maekar answered.

“I thought you might enjoy guests. Your sister is here.” He cited the one he had hoped you would be most thrilled about. But your sister had not squealed and run to you hug you, you had not heard any of their familiar voices. She must be stunned into a still silence. Taking in that the anvils wife truly was blind. A raven could say the words but witnessing it was different. Your clouded eyes, the unsure steps and outstretched hands, your low counting that you still did to track steps and when to turn. They could not still see the warmth in your eyes like he could.

“I-“ your eyes well up and you clumsily wipe at them before Maekar has a the opportunity to. When you turn your hand misses the handle of the door and you struggle for a moment trying to force the wood open with pure force.

“let us all sit, my good sister will surely join us all soon.” Prince Baelor said loud enough that most people drew their eyes from the door to him and the expansive table spread.

“you humiliate me!” You snap when Maekar gets the door open enough for you to slip past and he is close behind you. “Why have you brought all these people here?!” You felt gawked at, like some rare animal.

“you enjoy guests.” He blinked, he had thought you would kiss his cheek and squeeze his hand and tell him how happy you were about all this. He had not expected tears.

“before perhaps but now? Now? When I can not even host them?! When I have no way of knowing who even stands before me?” You stumble when a corner comes sooner than you think and Maekar pulls your hips back to him to cease your movement all together.

“You called your brother here? The hand-the crowned prince?”

“-and what do you care if my brother see you?” Jealousy flaring.

“I care because i am not ready…I-“ the tears spill over and this time Maekar swipes them away. “I don’t wish for people to see me like this.”

This is you. This is how you are now. Surly you did not wish to hide here at Summerhall forever and see on he, Daeron, Aerion and Aemon.

“like what?” He asked brow raised and scowl settling on his lips.

“Broken!” You stepped back but his hands did not allow that. “Ruined and changed and unhelpful-I. I can hardly be a wife and mother let along a hosting lady!” Your confidence was just not yet there, he was realizing that now.

“I will humiliate myself and in turn you.”

“you won’t…you cannot do anything that would make me look down upon you.” You were less worried about him. He had seen you knock over hundred of cups by now, walk into walls so hard that paintings fell right off the nails and he’d caught you talking to a wall instead of the person five feet away. None of those faults had turned him from you. But others? You doubted they would hold as much patience and grace for you.

“And what will they think of me? Pity would be the kindest thing and even that feels like a poison in my veins!” You push against his chest to earn yourself a bit a space and you continued on down the hall back towards your shared chambers. You know Maekar is following, but he keeps a few paces behind you. You know he is trying to give you some space and you want him to…but you also want him here to bear witness to your sadness and offer you relief. You know he is there and want to let him in despite your outburst so when you opened the door to your chambers you hold it open until his hand touches the wood as well.

“I do not think I enjoy surprise’s anymore.” You whisper and he come up behind you, arm wrapping low against your hips and it tucks you against his front.

“I can see that now.” He sighed and kissed the back of your head once. “Are you shocked that I’ve blundered something else?” He was not so misguided that he thought he had been a good enough husband to you over the past year. His distance and the the swing over into suffocating overprotectiveness and now this…this clear misunderstanding of your comfort with all these changes? He was shocked you even remained here for another nameday. He would not of begrudged you if you felt called home.

“I just wanted it to be like another normal day.” Every day since the fever had been a feat in and of itself, progress worth celebrating and breath that both of your feared would not be taken again at some point earlier within the year.

“Forgive me.”

You turned in his hold, your bum squished under his hands and your face nuzzling against his broad chest.

“thank you.” You opted to say instead. “For putting all of this together.” You whispered and his mouth lowered to press a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m sorry I cried.”

“Woman, do not apologize to me.” He wanted to ban that word from your vocabulary! You said it more in this past year than you had said it throughout your entire marriage.

“but your trying and I’m just-Im crying infront of our family and making you look a fool!” Your face hid in the softness of his stomach. “I’m sorry!”

He closed his eyes for a moment taking a stabilizing breath. “I misjudged your want I…” he needed to know you better, to understand this version of you and not just pretend that you were the same woman as before. “I am the one at fault.” He squeezed the back of your neck and when he saw your shoulders raise as the emotions got the best of you he gave a low groan. To others it would sound like he was irritated with you but it was more directed at himself. He should make things easier for you not worse! Certinly not worse on your bloody nameday.

Maekar lifted you up with ease and backed you to their bed laying you down and crawling over you. His hand keeping him up and he wiped your eyes with his other thumb.

“do you think me a fool?” He asked seriously and when you shook your head from under him he kissed your temple. “Than nobody else is allowed to think of either!” He’d offended you not them. Their feelings on the matter bothered him little!

“now tell me wife, what did you want for your nameday?”

You sniffled under him and your hands touched his sides tapping there as you thought. Really thought for a while. “I wanted to stay in bed with you.” You admitted.

“the boys bombarding in with sweets?” He added and he watched you bite your lip and shake your head no. “Then what did you want, surly not to hear my snores all morning?” He raised a brow, feeling that your fingers on his sides had tightened a bit.

“to be taken as you use to fuck me.”

The admission sucked the air out of the room and both of you felt ten degrees colder.

“what?” Maekar shifted back. No longer hovering over you. You pushed your hands against the bed to sit up and instantly your fingers laced together nervously picking at the fabric that flowed from your waist.

“A jest.” You swallowed.

“What do you mean as I used to?” His voice as deep and short and you knew that if you felt at his temple that the vein would be pulsing there. He laid with you, he had many times since the fever, since you both fought and made up. He knew you were satisfied, you’d never been concerned enough with his ego to fake something like a climax!

“just that-“ you sighed. Now you wished you’d just clapped and smile and stuffed your bloody mouth with biscuits in the great hall. “You are different in bed-“

“how?” He gritted out.

“-I do not know…” your voices overlapping each others “you are just gentle now.”

Maekar got out of the bed and there left sitting there cross legged and alone over the thick covers.

“That’s hardly true.” He didn't belive you.

“it is.” You sigh. “You are too careful with me…like I’m a doll that could be broken.”

“You can be.” He sounded close to the window because his voice was far off and you made to get out of bed and move to him. “You were almost entirely gone.” He swallowed, the image of you pale and sick and groaning from the pain was not something he could forget.

“I do not blame you for having coddling hands but…” you touch his back finally and begin to rub it. “I am an entire year older now…I’ve survived that, I’ve no fever and all this should prove to you that I’m hardly so easily hurt.”

He stayed turned away from you, remained looking out the window mulling over everything that has transpired since the fever. There had been ups and downs but how could he stand there in the hall and convince you that you’d made such significant progress while also doubting what you could handle when it came to him.

He has been gentle, hands worried over leaving bruises on your hips, his cock shallowing entering you incase it was to much, he worried he felt like a strange to you now that you could not see him. But your body knew him better than anything else-knew his passions and touch and the sensation of him letting go!

“Maekar-“ your words got lost in your throat because your husband had turned on his heels and kissed you. His hands squaring your hips and pushing you back against the wall. You chocked a bit on the frantic kisses “Husband-“ his hand settled on your jaw pushing your head back until your hair caught against the stone wall. He just watched your pant for a moment. Waiting and then when he heard it…the little soft whine and the ever so slight forward jaunt of your hips he pressed himself to you fully and consumed you there.

He had been being to gentle. Too careful and he was finding that not that his mind had been given whatever permission he apparently needed that his body was taking over. The desires that he’d had for the past moons pouring out.

“ugh!” You gasped when his hand groped roughly at your tits through the gown and your fingers pulled at his hair as he kissed your swollen mouth. Your bottom lip would be delightfully bruised by the end of this. “Fucking hells.” You moaned when he pulled at one of the buds through the cloth before grabing the neckline of the simple gown and tearing it down the front. He did not even fully remove it, but opened it up enough that he could see your soft stomach and the mound this soft curling hair below it.

“you are no doll.” He bit at your neck and you nodded eyes fluttering because he was making you damper between your legs that you had been in a very long time. “Say it.” He kissed down the newly exposed flesh.

“I am not a doll.” You breathed voice shaking a bit from the excitement of it all.

“can I break you?” He kissed over your belly button and his nose nudged lower still so he could breathe in your aroused aroma.

“never…you could never break me.” He couldn’t, you couldn’t perceive of anything he could do to you that would destroy what laid between you two.

That was all the assurance Maekar needed because the next thing you knew his face was burried in your thighs and his tongue was lapping greedily at your pearl. The orgasm was so powerful that you had pratically folded overtop his shoulder as he made you shake and gasp.

“Do you feel how much I love you know?” You knew that tone, the ‘I’m going to make you into a blubbering mess until you understand’ tone. You could not be more happy about it! He lifted you because that first orgasm had weakened your knees already and so when he put you onto the bed you smiled sweetly up at him.

“I want to feel how much you love me for my name day. Prove it.” You were egging him on now and your body was certinly going to feel the consequences of that!

Your joints weren’t as lose as before, mostly because Maekar had taken to bedding you laid behind you in bed. Gently easing his way into your warm cunt from behind and kissing your neck as you clutched the pillows or fur.

Feeling his hands grabed the underside of both your knees made your cheeks heat and your muscles groan when he secured your heels over his shoulders. The ball of your ankles nestled just behind his ears.

“fuck…” you groaned at feeling so exposed. The the stench behind your thighs making you more sensitive.

“this was your wish.” He reminded. You did not regret it at all. This had been want you wanted for moons! Him, unrestrained!

“gods be good.” He grunted as his cock was fished from his trousers and dragged against your swollen glistening folds. He could die here, cock sucked between your velvety lips just rocking through your folds feeling your clit drag against the underside of his cock.

“fuck me…” you pushed him, ankled clasping behind his head brining him down over you more and his hand gripped the side of your leg and her hip.

“fucking minx.” He growled. It was said like an insult but you knew that it just meant you were driving him bloody mad.

“fuck me like you used to Husband.” You begged in his ear and your fingers and toes curled the moment his hips stuttered and he sunk himself deep into you. Pelvis giving a firm thrust forward to sink himself fully in. His revealed cock hitting the furthest point within you.

Maekar grunted into your neck and you groaned at the strech, all of this was more than you’d gotten in a while and so your body fought to keep up while your might was lit up in satiation.

“miss being fucked like a whore?” He bit your collarbone and you nodded ass already getting imprinted with his belt from the force of his his humping. “You’re so tight for me.” He groaned and your nails trailed down his back from his hair leaving little lines up and down the plane of his back as he took your roughly.

“yes! Gods yes I miss this-you…ohgodsM-Maekar!” You rambled on through shuttered whines. Cunt already clenching around his throbbing length and neither was you were likely going to last long. Bodies to unsure to being subjected to this level of pleasure.

“do you feel it now?” He was hitting your cervix, your clit pinched between his body and yours with each rock of his hips. “Say it.” He growled into your mouth.

“yes! Y-yes I feel you.” You cried out, tears of pleasure dripping of the sides of your face because this had been what you needed. Your mind and your body. “Gods yes! I-I feel how much you love me!” You pratically shouted it so he could still hear you through the kissing and panting and grunting. He heard it. Loud and clear and his own admission of love spilled from his lips with a deep grunt just as his seed spilled within you.

Baelor, regrettably heard it as well, as he came down the hall to check in on the situation. He thought perhaps he could help rescue his brother from your ire a bit. Clearly that was not needed. You did not sound angry one bit and it seemed to him that this nameday had been throughly enjoyed by you and Maekar despite the misguided surprise!

Prequel, Prequel 2, One, Drabble(2), Drabble(3), four, five, six, Family Headcannons, Seven , eight *, nine

Maekar Masterlist

“yes!” Maekar said it so enthusiastically that Daeron let out a low chuckle, Dry. Started but not surprised. His father has always been more sensitive than he let on. He has been angry when Aemon leaving was suggested and clearly that anger had been born out a sadness about seeing one of his sons torn from the nest to soon.

“you see him?” Maekar hand was against your back and when he felt his fingers lose contact with the softness of your gown he quickly followed after you. Turning and urging Rhae towards her older sister.

He did not need to command his children to remain there. His look had been clear enough for all his children to understand.

“Aemon!” You called rushing down the cobble path. You could hear the carriage grow closer and when Maekar’s hand was back against you your feet slowed a bit. You weren’t attempting to run, he need not chase you. You just…you couldn’t wait a second longer you wanted to hold him.

Maekar needed only to raise his hand when the wheelhouse neared. The horses haulting and the wheels following suit. He smiled at how you held yourself back from stepping closer. He knew you had little patience to wait and so the moment that it was safe he guided you forward to the handle of the door itself and watched as you yanked it open and Aemons bright short head of hair poked out.

“mother!” He beamed and the boys arms slung over your shoulders. He felt heavy, later Maekar would tell you he looked more like a proper young man than a boy. He was eggs size when he left your home…now he was taller than Aerion was.

“I’ve missed you so.” You hold the back of his head and kiss whatever you are reaching on the side of his face. “I won’t let you go back.” You rubbed his cheek. “We’ve books here son. Plenty for you to read. So many I’ve yet to hear.” You held both his cheeks now. Eyes looking right through him and Maekar saw the momentary fall of his son’s smile.

“Your mother jests. She’d not go against the kings wishes.” Maekar assured. Aemon knew she had not been being serious about her plot to keep him secure within their study. That wasn’t why his face fell. He forgot what it was like to see you. To catch the moment when your eyelids squinted and you tried desperately to make your eyes focus. You always did it when somebody was close to you, always made the effort.

“no…no he’s right.” Your hand drops one of his cheeks and your foot eased off the small step and you feel Maekars hands cup the tops of your shoulder. A assuring squeeze that makes you take in a proper breath for the first time since the carriage door had come open. “I am not immune to selfishness. The maesters get to hear you read all day I’m sure. I miss the stories” you admit with a mournful smile. If you could see the reflecting of it in Aemon’s light lavender eyes you would have foxed it to be brighter, to be more convincing, more joyous!

One of Maekar’s hands moved from your shoulder and he patted aemons and gave him a proud nod. “Come, your siblings are like to run off if you do not make your arrival soon.” He urged them back up the path towards the front courtyard of Summerhall.

“perhaps later, after the feast I could read in the study. I’ve…lots of passages that need to be studied. You could listen if you want.” He told you, hand at your arm during the walk.

“yes, that would be lovely.” He saw a smile he remembered now, and was glad to have that comfort before being tossed back to the chaos that was his brothers and sisters. despite the loudness he did miss them. How couldn’t he?

It was a thrilling first few days of his visit, you were perhaps a bit suffocating of a presence but you just wanted to savor as much of his time here as you could. Maekar had said you may be being a bit much… with all the questions and whatnot but you were simply curious about his studies, how the citidal was run and what new thing the Maesters were working on.

You had a genuine fascination and from the language you used and the conclusions you drew Aemon was sure you had at one point read many of the same scrolls he had. Which was true, but it felt like something that had happened two lifetimes ago for you. The tinctures and tonics that you brewed as a girl felt like ancient history to you now. He was glad to discussing all these matters with you, glad that you did not groan and find some way to escape conversation when it became to scientifically hypothetical like the rest of the family did.

The candles were burnt low when he cleared his throat finally. “do you know why I’ve come home?”

“because you are to start working towards your first link soon and studies will grow more demanding. Because our good king knows a boy should visit her mother on occasion.”

“yes.” He wrung his hands together. “But I also wanted to come home to show you something.” Your brow wrinkled some when you felt his weight lift from the sofa you two were sat on and you heard him put something heavy down on the small table infront of you.

“your presence is the greatest gift Aemon, truly I need nothing more.” You stoked under his eyes with his thumb. A few days and you had already relearned the dimensions of his face perfectly.

“please…I think you might like it a lot. It’s wrapped.” He chewed his lip and watxhed as you huffed out a soft chuckle and pulled the thing into your lap.

“if you insist…” you pulled the wrapping from it carefully and laid your spread hand against the face of it. Fingers feeling leather. Then the edge and finally the corner of paper. “It is so lovely-a book. Could you read some to me now!” You rushed it out quickly. You’d gotten quite a few gifts over the years that were painfully useless and seriously unenjoyable to you. You’d gotten much better at receiving them as time has gone on. You knew how it was not a slight but just people who wanted to be generous but were misguided in their attempt.

“actually,” aemon shifted and pulled the cover open. “I wish to hear you read to me.”

“I do not think this is a folk tale I’ve memorized my love, I-“ you swallowed tensely. “Those ones may be of little interest to you.” You’ve managed to memorize…and partially make up a few stories for the little ones of the years. Listening to nans for hours read to your own babe until you managed to memorize the plot that came with each page turn.

“I can teach you.” He reached for your hand and guided it to the open book. Your finger twitched after he let it down and your lips lost some of the tension they held. You feel something under the pad of your thumb. A raised dot…a few actually and then more all in a row.

“Aemon,” you chewed your bottom lip. “I do not understand…” the concept of this, words felt on a page was novel, and so it took close to a hour for your son to fully explain the concept that he had thought up. The language he desperately wished to created for your fingers so you could enjoy stories without being read them, so you might read his letters in your mind instead of listening to them from Maekar mouth.

He had gone to the maesters, asked their help and together they had created a whole alphabet made from textured dots.

He had directed your hand to the top of the page and began to teach you. He wouldn’t tell you what tale was in your lap, he planned for you to discover it on your own. Letter by letter you began to uncover the reveal. It took three hours. Feeling the book, then the key he had made for you and he gladly cut in with small tips or details that he personally had thought up or insisted on. It was the only lesson that lasted three hours where you were smiling the entire time.

“M. M again like earlier, is that right?” You asked, lip between your teeth because you were focusing.

“yes…it ends with a m.” Aemon confirmed proudly and he watxhed four finger graze of the the title a few more time. Reminding yourself of the other letters you’d practiced.

“Jade Compendium….it says Jade Compendium.” You were breathing heavy like you’d just raced up a hill and your eyes were widened and mouth stretched to show all of your teeth as you beamed.

“yes! Yes, mother that’s right!” Aemon had not raised his voice so loudly in years. But this was thrilling this felt like a cause that was very worthy of some ruckus!

“oh my son,” you pull him closer to you in a tight hug and kiss the side of his head. “This is the most generous gift I have ever received.” You wet his hair a bit with your tears. There joyous ones. He knew that. “Thank you.” You voice shook a bit. This was an entire tale for you to read. More letters to learn and if more stories could be produced in this format you could not only read properly to Daella, Egg and Rhae but you could do so for yourself. A pastime that you once loved could come back to you.

“I want to stay until you know all the letters properly, so I can write more books like this for you.” He squeezed his arms around you and you nodded softly. You’d put up no fight there. More time with him at home, more time sat here on this sofa with him learning a text that would open so much of the world back up to you. “I’ll write to you like this from now on. So you can have more practice.”

“I would like that greatly Aemon, truly.” You sniffled a bit and pulled back to get yourself together. “The Jade Compendium is a good choice…it’s my favorite tale.” You admit to him, just assuming it was a happy coincidence.

Later, after another two hours of tracing dots you fall asleep there on the sofa. Fingers spread in the book and head lulled to the side resting against your shoulder. Too much excitement and learning, plus it was late in the day, aemon knew how the mins got tired when information was dumped into it. He slept quite deeply after pouring through scrolls so he did not find it surprising that you drifted off.

He had gone to the door to tell the guard stood outside of it that you needed to be brought to bed. To Aemons surprise the knight did not just come in himself and gather you, he left and less than ten minutes laters Maekar appeared.

“I wondered if you gave it to her when neither of you appeared for supper.” Aemon earned another proud squeeze to his shoulders from his father’s hand. “Do you think it will work as you intend?” He knew of the book, of the language aemon invented to keep you immersed in this world and all of its tales and histories.

“She is smart, you know this. She already has memorized half the letters.” He proudly says. He knew he must have gotten in intelligence from you. His father was not dull but he was hardly hungry for intellectual stimulation, clearly you were!

“she is.” He nodded and looked at you, slumped slightly into one of the small pillows and he stepped around the table to reach you. Hands shifting under your bottom and back and gathering you up high across his chest.

“she was pleased to know it was the Jade Compendium.” He shared. “Said it is her favorite tale.”

Maekar nodded a bit and he kissed your nose. “Very well.” Aemon has orginally selected something else but Maekar had insisted on this one. He knew you well, you and Aemon were not the only two in this family that knew how to collect information and draw conclusions.

Prequel, Prequel 2, One, Drabble(2), Drabble(3), four, five, six, Family Headcannons, Seven (that’s this one), eight, nine

Maekar Masterlist

Daeron would lay his head in your lap. Let you detangle his hair with your fingers. Even when he was grown…especially then. There were choices he made, poisoning his body with the ale and giving himself away to woman who hardly deserved him, that you disagreed deeply with. But you knew your sensitive son enough to understand that scolding him-telling him he was behaving poorly and that he was better than how he currently held himself would just degrade his confidence and extinguish whatever remaining small slice of desire he still had within him to remain apart of this family. Somewhere along the way Daeron had decided that if he could not be good that he might as well be horrid, what is what you felt the truth was. That he was just heightening the level of his transgressions slowly over time so that his siblings may no longer worry for him, so that Maekar would grow so frustrated he would not waste one thought on him. He’d asked you if he was too much trouble before, if you would suffer less if he ceased to remain here at summerhall.

You believed none of the act, the put on horrid behavior. A truly horrid man did not sit with their mother and tell her he was scared. A horrid man did not made quips at other expense when they were less than thoughtful about your condition…when even Maekar got ahead of himself and occasionally forgot your limitations. You loved Daeron so deeply that you refused to allow him to fully slip from this family, and you insisted on his inclusion at suppers or visits to the garden or trips back to your families seat. You would not allow him to be left behind to wallow even if he was pratically a man grown. It grates at Maekar, your repeated forgiveness of him, of his drunken terrorizing and his messy clumsiness and the limited boundaries he had with you especially. Daeron had no shame in crawling into bed to hold to you (he wanted to be held), he called for you whenever guards found him somewhere he shouldn’t be. Maekar felt he was coddled and in turn the boys father was even stiffer and more distant towards him. You were the only one he spoke to about his dreams…about the visions and thoughts that plagued his mind. He knew you understood how believe something is real without seeing it with your own eyes. You understood, you believed him but you could do little more to ease the ciphers that came to him.

Aerion

There was a time when you were closer to Aerion that any of your children… Maekar even found himself envious of how much of your attention got focused on Aerion. Attention was what Aerion needed though, and you were happy to provide it. He was a naughty little boy in the classic way that all somewhat hyperactive children are. He never meant to make a mess or say something that hurt somebody feelings. He just moved to quickly and produced words to fast for them to be filtered through or for his movements to be contained. So you kept him close to your hip. Sat in his lessons, even when Aemon was born and you needed rest you pulled yourself together and sat besides him on the bench and whispered softly to him when you saw his mind wander off while he was suppose to be practicing writing his name.

Your loss of vision impacted him the most, by far. He couldn’t say “look mother, I’ve found this in the garden.” Or “watch me while I beat the practice dummy with my new wooden sword” he just didn’t feel seen anymore because you couldn’t pick up on his eyes growing distant or his leg rattling against the floor because he was anxious or bored out of his mind. Words, especially sensitive ones never came to him easily (he was far to much like his father in that regard) he was guarded and words were the only language you could speak now so things grew very quiet between you two. Maekar saw it…everybody in the keep saw it, his change in behavior. The acting out and fussing and to this day Maekar still thinks it’s some grand outburst so you might notice him in the way you used to. Might better pick up on what he’s feeling without him having to tell you directly.

Aemon

Sweet sweet thoughtful Aemon. Had he not been the most recent babe you had when the fever happened you’d not of had any further children. Not because Daeron or Aerion were specifically challenging as infants but because Aemon was so very peaceful. Strangely peaceful in truth, he just made parenting easy. You could hold him against your chest and go about every task on your mental list. It was like he saved his fussing for opportune moments when you had the time to deal with them. It was lovely. It made maekar less worried about ruining something with the baby to so he was deeply involved in Aemons care during the first few moons of his life. Aemon was content to let either of you love on him unlike his other brother had been so more nights that not it was Maekar’s chest that Aemon ended up snoozed against. You loved to see them together…see maekar come into his own as a father and had the fever not occurred gods know you’d of have another babe between him and Daella because that was just how attractive you found him in that parental role!

You’d got to go to Dorne at some point after Rhae was born. You’d never gone despite always telling Maekar that it was a part of the seven kingdoms you had always been curious about. He held off on the trip for a long time because he felt that he’s ruined your chance at enjoying it properly now that you couldn’t see. He felt guilty…he should have taken you before you even had Daeron, when you first brought it up to him. Now you wouldn’t see the water gardens or the rolling amber hills of sand. They could be described but he knew it wouldn’t be as satisfying as it would have been before when you could gaze at the gorgeous views. He did not end up accompanying you. Aemon told you in the wheelhouse when you departed that “father looks like he wants to come with us.”. You knew he did. You also knew that he would have enjoyed it very little. Feeling tortured watching you finally visit a place you always wanted to see…and returning having still not seen it. You went with the King, Queen, Aemon because he was as curious as you were and Rhae because she was far too little to be parted from you. Aemon adored it all, he became so invested in learning about the Dornish history that even king Daeron had noticed. You were in a wheelhouse, on the return home when Maekar’s mother delicately brought up what the Kings will was. The idea of sending Aemon to the citdel, letting him study to be a maester. Aemon found the prospect of living within some huge study far too interesting and hearing that he wouldn’t need to continue his lessons in the training yard sold him on the concept fully. You did not have the heart to say no…to say you wanted him at home by your side. Your little verbal illustrator. He sounded so bloody happy at the premise of going there that you were the one convincing maekar of the idea when you all returned. Though he was the one that held you under his wing as your sobbed when the wheelhouse carrying Aemon away got more distant. You did not allow him to bring your back into the hall until the rolling wheels were no longer ringing in your ears.

Daella

She was the first daughter, and although you had never considered yourself overtly feminine you had been drowning in a hall of boys and men so she felt like a much needed burst of fresh, sweet smelling air. She was treated much like a doll for the first few years of her life. You were still growing accustomed to caring for a babe without your vision and so the nans and maids were heavily involved in the more pressing tasks of her early survival. But you did feed here…she was the onto child you did not use a wetnurse with. It was something your body could do, you may not be able to see but you could provide her with sustenance!

You figured that that connection had kept her close to you. Or perhaps it was just that you both were the two ladies of Summerhall for such a long time? She was your little show, sitting with you, letting you feel whatever embroidery she worked on. She liked to braid your hair and she would sit for a long time at night just brushing and braiding your hair over and over until her father would eventually come into the room for the night. Then she would end up over his shoulder being carried back to her bedchambers. She was, by all accounts the perfect little princess but you knew she had an edge, she had three brothers older than her that she very much held her own with! She has her father’s type of anger, just blind rage. Thank the gods it took a lot for her to get there but when she did you always had to intervene. Pull her away and likely comfort whichever brother was the victim of her cutting remark. She gave Aerion a run for his money if she was pushed past her point of tolerance!

Aegon 🥚

He was your illustrator, your storyteller, your adventure, your rambunctious and quick whited son. He did not enjoy being with his elder brothers much as he and aerion just went at eachother like wolves which was highly inappropriate given their age difference. Then Daeron and Aemon just preferred a bit more quiet that Aegon offered them. He got on well with his sisters but girls could be wild in their own way too. So he found company with you when he wasn’t running off with the sons of stable hands and knights held within the Summerhall walls. He sat next to you at every feast and it was only partially because he needed your presence as a reminder to not run off and to behave as a polite and well mannered prince would. The truth was though, that Maekar had not insisted on the seating arrangement being that way. You had.

He would tell you what was happening with the most fantastical descriptions…including comments that were not simply just the truth of whatever was occurring but also his perspective of things. His additional assumptions about a lords quarrel with his wife, or a young lady fluttering her lashes at somebody doubled her age. He soaked in so much and you were glad to let him spill the words from his lips right into your ear. Maekar has made remarks, at times, mostly when he is sour for one reason or another, that it is odd the boy favors you so deeply, when all Egg ever says he wants to do is to be a knight, to learn the sword and grow strong and big and that whenever he corners the boy to practice those skills he seemed less than interested. You just said he was boy, that boys his age still needed their mothers. (You knew boys of all ages needed their mothers based on the wreck that was Maekar interacting with Daeron) You said that five times, you’d kept track. Eventually when Maekar huffed about it again, on some day when you had a ache or some other reason to be short yourself you told him the truth of it…or what you believed to be the truth. “Perhaps Aegon has no desire to be immersed more deeply in your grumbling gloom.” You stayed on the lounger that night…due to shame for speaking poorly about the man you loved and also because you feared what other criticism you might have of him if your proximity was closer and he muttered something under his breath that would start another argument. You did not remain in the lounger for the entirety of the night. You woke in your soft bed to the sounds of Maekar snoring from the lounger.

Rhae

“she looks like you.” That was the first thing Maekar told you when she was born…it was how you even found out that you’d just given birth to a daughter. You were somewhat greatful for that fact, you knew what you looked like…or had looked like all those years ago. You did not have to guess how the features Maekar described all fit together because you knew them, you felt her nose and it was familiar because it was yours. She was yours. Through and through she was your daughter. Curious like you, overzealous like you. She tormented Maekar in a way that he has only ever know you to. The smart tongue, raising brow and ability to poking into whatever thought or emotion he thinks he’s completely hidden.

She has a proclivity for science as well. Just as you did. Making potions as soon as she could hold two things in her hand. Of course those had primarily been made up of whatever food was on her supper plate or dirt and water from the garden but when she got older she found herself true products to mix together for whatever her desired effect was. She tried to fix you once…all you got was an awful horrible stomach ache and bruises on your knees from retching over the privy for hours. Maekar dealt with her punishment. To this day you still believe she was sent to bed without supper and likely got a few paddles to her backside. Neither had occurred. Maekar, who had considered calling witches to mix up potions for you could not find it in him to punish Rhae for something he has desperately wanted to try as well.

Some lil tidbits about Blind!Wife and Maekar:

After you two met he was like a dog with a bone. You were the bone. It was all rather infuriating to him because he wasn’t daft enough to not understand that your proding comments and raised brow and insistence on continue conversation with him at the feast after the first Rebellion had been won was anything but flirting. He had asked you the next day…after getting you alone in a maesters study if you’d bled. He seemed unable to speak directly about things that he wanted. You and a courtship were what he wanted. “Do I look like a girl who’s not bled?” You diddnt, not based on the rounds that still stood high and perky against your chest at that time. Or that you were in gowns woman wore, ones that attempted to discreetly show eligible men your figure. He did not make any additional attempts at suggesting a courtship after that…because well, gods help him he did not think he could handle another smart quip like that aimed at him. You’d end up leaving kings landing with having done nothing more but dress is still somewhat fresh scars. He was the first one to send a raven, some moon later. It was a thanks for the cream concoction, informing you that the scars on his chest were certainly better now. A hello, a open door disguise as a follow up. You two work eachother so feverishly after that that sometimes the raven could not arrive before you were already sending him another thought.

”have you gone blind as fucking well?” He would snap at a lord or a servant whenever they would speak to him and around you. When he’d be asked if you needed another tea, or if you needed help navigating something. It infuriated him that these imbicels thought you suddenly a mute also. Did they think you required him to be your eyes, ears and mouth now? Whenever they would start to bumble around an apology because your husband was honestly a frightening man he would shut himself out of the conversation entirely. “She is here, ask her-“

He is more sensitive to illness now, specifically if you are the one suffering it. You don’t resent him at all for how he lingers if you wake with a scratch in your throat. Or that he insists on bathing you himself if he notices you have scratched a rash into your skin. You don’t admit it, because you liked to be thought of as rational and not easily shaken, but when you get a fever again you are glad that Maekar refuses to leave you. That he holds you against his chest and rubs up and down your back speaking with you the entire time, keeping your anxious mind occupied…and neither of you discuss that every hour you tell him that you can still feel your finger or hear his breathing, that you can taste the tea from break of fast still on your tongue. He does not judge you for cataloging what you still have access to because he also is desperate for the reassurance. ❤️‍🩹

Maekar secretly enjoys how you he gets to watch you…without you necessarily knowing he is doing so. Viewing you ready yourself, bath yourself, hum and fiddle around with your knitting (a skill he knew you had self admitted resented as a young lady). He especially enjoyed that…you sat against the headboard in your nightgown just knitting away at whatever project you currently worked on. You’d been made to do it so much as a child that you found you could do it with your eyes closed…which has not come in handy for you. Maekar worried you weren’t content in life, that without his company (which he just feasibly could not provide constantly) that you would feel bored or lonely but when he would find you in these quiet moments, lips softly turned up into a gentle peaceful smile, and then he gets to startle you with his overly warm calloused hand suddenly in your hair or slipping around your waist. The knitting needles disregarded and your lips spread into a wide grin as your husband hauls you to where he wants.

As time goes on and you adapt and his protective guiding hand shifts from always being on the small do your back to just hanging down by his side…arm lose enough to swing when he walks and fingers open instead of clenched in a fist. Occasionally twisting lacing a first if his with yours. It wasn’t enough contact to mean he was attempting to guide you…it was simply him reassuring you that he was still there.

Maekar Masterlist

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Just then there's a knock on the door. She smiles when she sees her husband come in with a plastic bag full of food. "Thought you might be hungry." he says.

"You know I rarely am." She says.

"Just try a little." He pleads as he puts the food on the table, "I had to bribe a lot of nurses to get this up here.

"Fine, only a little." She says, "But only if I get to talk about my dying wishes."

He clicks his tongue reluctantly not wanting to listen to those. He hated talking about when she was leaving him all alone in this sad world. He notices the pages of her yellow pad full of things. He sighs, "Deal."

She cheers and opens the food container, "Thank you, Jack."

In sickness and in health, 'til death do us part. Those were the vows Jack and Laura Abbot told one another thinking they had all the time in the world to think about death. That was until Laura was diagnosed with breast cancer at 35. She lived with it triumphantly and beat it once.

However, at 40, it came back and came back more aggressive. It had spread to other parts of her body like her lungs and brain. She was only given a few months… and that was a few months ago.

It was only a matter of days before she would succumb to the illness. She grew tired and weary with all the treatment. Seeing her husband fret over her didn't help either. She didn't want to give up but staying alive didn't feel right either. It was ultimately her decision to stay in this hospice facility.

"Have my mom go through my stuff and donate it to the Salvation Army. And that includes my wedding dress." She reads from her note pad.

Jack squeezes his eyes shut and sighs, "Seriously?"

"Well, you're not going to wear it, are you?" She giggles, "Schedule the appointment after my family has gone through and gathered what they want."

"This is torture." He covers his ears.

"Hey! You promised to be a good sport." She smacks the top of his head with the note pad. When it lands, a folded up brown napkin falls out and lands on the floor in front of Jack.

"What's this?" He unfolds the paper and sees a short list of names written on it.

"Oh just a list of women you can't be with when I die."

"That I can't be with?" He blinks in confusion.

"Well, I thought about it and I came to the conclusion that I would be okay with you moving on after I die."

"I don't think there is a chance of that—"

"And when you do, it can't be with any of those women on the list."

"Alright then let's see who's on the list." He clears his throat, "Nancy Grace… the girl I dated in high school?"

"Correction, the girl you dated throughout high school. If I recall, your mom said she couldn't imagine you marrying anybody else."

"In her defense, that was in the beginning of our relationship. My mom thinks we're soulmates."

"Nice try, I think she still holds out hope."

"Nancy is married with kids anyway. I think she has a grandchild on the way too."

"Wow…" Laura says shocked.

"Okay, next on the list is… Laurelai Jacobs? Seriously, your best friend since freshman year of college, Laurelai? She would never do that to you."

"Listen! She ditched her blind date with you and I don't want her thinking she has a second chance."

"She didn't ditch, she had food poisoning."

"That may be the case but that window is closed."

"Alright, it's your list. Last person is…" You. Jack furrows his brows in confusion as he reads your name. "This one definitely can't be right."

"No, it is. Not her." Laura says plainly.

"Why not?"

You had met Jack in medical school while living on the same floor in the dorms. You both woke up extremely early to shower. You would bump into each other in the halls before he did the gentlemanly thing of letting you enter first.

It wasn't until Laura came to visit that you two properly introduced yourselves. However, it was you and Laura that became fast friends. You were timid and cold but she could tell there was a softness under the surface. She brought you out of your shell which in turn made you interested in patient care and emergency medicine as your specialty.

Jack would consider you a friend but you were Laura's friend first. There was a point in time that you would only talk to him when Laura was around. Which made him confused as to why you were on the list.

"She's on there because I said so." She explains, "It can't be a list if there are only two names on there."

"Okay," He tries to hand it back.

"Keep it. It's a promise to me that when you move on—"

"I won't—"

"—You will," She cuts him off, "You'll still be thinking about me." She places her hand on his.

"I'll always be thinking about you." His eyes start to sting. He leans over giving her a tender kiss.

A week later, Laura would pass away. The wake was overwhelmed with people of all parts of her life. Her family, close friends, other cancer survivors she met on her journey, and even a few of the hospice care nurses.

All of them give their condolences to Jack as they share memories of Laura with one another. While everyone is sharing and eating, Jack goes to hide in the funeral home. He ran out of tears before the service was over. Now what, is all he thought. This is the beginning of his new miserable life.

He goes up into the second story of the antique funeral home to the parlor room. From the door way he sees you sitting in one of the antique chairs facing out into the garden where the other attendees were. You hear the floorboards creak and look over to see Jack.

"Hi." You whisper. There are tears welling up in your eyes but they only threaten to spill.

"I just needed a break." He mutters.

"Me too. Probably not more than you though." You sniffle. You see he didn't react to the joke and purse your lips.

He takes a seat on the parlor couch away from you. The air between you grows awkward. He glances at your profile as you look out the window. The overcast light bounces over your tears as they finally spilled from your eyes. You wipe them away as quickly as they come.

"I'm glad you came." He says.

"Of course. I wouldn't miss it for the world." You smile, "It's gonna be hard knowing she can't take my calls anymore."

"I know. Imagine knowing she won't be home when you get there."

"Jack…" You sigh, "You can't one-up your guests at the wake. They are in mourning."

"Sorry, I'll be sure to keep it to myself next time." The two of you laugh.

He forgot how nice it was to laugh with you. Laura and you could fill a room with laughter and it would just be the two of you.

"You can always call me if you need an ear." You say, "I know everyone probably has offered but you know I'm good for it."

"I know." He smiles, "You were there for her."

After med school, Jack was deployed, you were matched to UCSF in San Francisco. Although there, you kept in contact with Laura long distance. When she was first diagnosed with breast cancer, you pulled out all the stops so she could get treatment there. Ultimately, it was your contribution that she was able to beat it the first time.

"There was no place I would have rather been." You stand up straightening you dress and wiping your tears, "I'll give you some quiet. I'm gonna mingle a little more before I become hysterical."

He gets up and the two of you hug. He feels your tears on his shoulder as he tries not to cry himself. He sniffles into your shoulder. You smelled like the forest floor after rain, "Be kind to yourself, Jack. Don't let yourself hide away in the dark."

You pull away and kiss his cheek before leaving. Jack watches you integrate into the crowd from the window. He shoves his hand in his pocket and pulls out the napkin and focuses on your name. Then he looks out and sees you smiling politely among a group.

Although he didn't know why his wife put you on the list, he was going to honor her wishes. But what he failed to consider was that he would fall down a dark hole, he couldn't crawl out of alone. He lost contact with everyone in his life because they all reminded him of her. He disappeared and wallowed in his own despair.

He stumbled, he crashed, and he fell until he could finally forced himself to pick up the pieces. He changed his hours to be on night shift for the quiet. He went to a therapist and tried to reconcile with those closest to him. However, with you, he just wasn't ready to do that. It seemed better that you weren't in his life. The strongest reminder of what once was.

But a year turned into several. And several turned to a decade.

You take a drag of your cigarette as you stand outside of the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center's ambulance bay. It was a hot and sticky summer's day. You regret putting on a long sleeve under your scrubs. You sigh as you think to yourself you'll have to get a new wardrobe. You never thought you'd be back on the east coast ever again.

You were offered a position as an attending at the hospital working alongside Dr. Al-Hashimi. She actually recommended you for the position as you two had worked together when she was a Stanford. You took it because you needed the change. You were getting into a lot of bad habits so you decided to do something good for once and move to a new city in a new state for a new job. At least it sounded like a good thing when it was offered to you.

It's towards the end of your first shift and most of it you spent observing, being presented to, and jumping in on traumas when needed. Things a usual attending would do. However, the students could tell you were more laid back then Al-Hashimi and their usual attending, Robby. Although you were older than her, you were deemed the cooler one.

"Kinda wish she was the one that took over for Robby." Santos mutters as the residents finish charting for the night. You return from your smoke break waving to the residents.

"Good work today, guys." You say as you walk over to the nurse's station to look at the status board.

"Does she remind anybody else of Abbot?" Whitaker asks, "Like in the elusive way?"

"What did you say?" You turn around. That name rings in your ear like an alarm.

"S-sorry I didn't mean to offend. I- I just meant you were really cool." He stutters.

"No, I am sorry, I meant that name. Abbot. As in Jack Abbot?" You walk closer.

"Yeah, he's the ER's night attending. He should be coming any minute now."

The residents look at your astonished face in confusion. You let out a scoff in disbelief.

"Do you know Dr. Abbot?" Santos asks.

"We went to med school together in Boston." You say, "Excuse me for a moment."

You go to the bathroom to gather your thoughts. He's here. You were going to see him again after ten years. You take a deep breath through your nostrils as you calm your nerves. You try not to get upset as you think about what would happen when you see him. It didn't matter anymore. You made it not matter a long time ago. It was water under the bridge. The charred, destroyed, and unrecoverable bridge.

You wash your hands and splash some water in your face. As you look in the mirror, you sigh. You need another cigarette. You wipe your face and hands and walk out going back to the hub.

"Just in time Dr. (Y/N), 2 burn victims pulled from an explosion coming in at any minute."

"Where do you want me?"

"Trauma 2 with Abbot."

You look past her to see Abbot inside prepping the room. A chill runs down your spine. He was alive and well. Grayer than the last you saw him. He looked… fine. You didn't expect him to look so fine. You were hoping he was was still torn up and grieving; Isolated, with darker circles under his eyes, maybe a little scruffier. He puts some safety glasses on and when he looks up, he locks eyes with you. You close your eyes steeling yourself.

A nurse hands you a smock to put on and a some safety glasses. The paramedics enter through the back doors. You follow them into the trauma room as they give the bullet. 28 year old male, burns to the head and chest from a meth lab explosion. BP started dropping on route and they were unable to get his pulse ox due to the damage of on his hands and arms.

The patient gets transferred to the trauma gurney and your residents begin their evaluations. You grab a pair of scissors and begin to cut off the patients clothes. Abbot does the same opposite of you until you get to the shirt cutting up to reveal the extent of his wounds.

"Full thickness burns on the chest and abdomen. Deep partial burns on the arms and face and deep burns on lower extremities and upper legs. Nazely, do you know what that means for the TBSA." Abbot scans over the man's body.

"Um… it's between 9% and 18%… based on his injuries it's about 60%?" She says.

"52%" You correct, "We have to be more accurate when treating burns. We don't want to over-resuscitate fluids because it will cause problems later like heart failure and electrolyte abnormalities during recovery."

Abbot watches you explain effortlessly. You give Nazely an assuring smile as you explain how you came to your percentage. She looks back at you more confident and continues working. You catch eyes with Abbot before refocusing on the patient.

"Airway has signs of inhalation injury." Santos says, "It's a little hard to keep his mouth open."

"Heart rate is tachy and I'm hearing stridor." King says as she places her stethoscope along his chest, "Sir can you hear me? Do you know where you are?"

The man simply stares with blown pupils, "Every…thing… hurts."

"Push 10 migs of morphine please." Abbot says. "And lets get a chest x-ray, CBC ABG, COHb, and a tox screen."

You scan his eyes with your pen light for any reaction. Dilated and non-reactive "Sir, can you follow my finger." He moves his eyes smoothly with your finger, "Don't try to talk okay?"

Your soft voice sends Abbot's heart a hard pang. He missed your voice. As the residents continue working with you, his eyes scan over your body. You move away for the x-ray and he can see your face now.

You've got strands of grey in your hair. It wasn't as much as his but you weren't hiding them, like a crown they start on your front hairline. Some crow"s feet in the sides of your eyes and when you smiled you're cheeks creased. You changed so much since he'd seen you last. A bit of him regrets not reaching out to you sooner.

He snaps out of his thoughts when he sees you beside Nazely guiding her through intubation with the video laryngoscope. "Okay see the vocal chords…"

"I don't…"

"That's because the burns on his neck are causing edema. We need to do an escharotomy if we want this guy to be stable quick. Where's the surgeon on call?"

"In the other trauma… a child was in the fire too." One the nurses says.

"Shit. Let them know, Abbot is going to be performing an escharotomy." You look to him intensely. He gives a confirming nod as he takes a scalpel. You pull out the laryngoscope.

"Dr. Toomarian, have you ever seen an escharotomy?" You ask.

"No. What is it?"

"When you do an escharotomy you get LAID." Abbot bounces his eyebrows as he begins with the patient's chest, "Longitudinal incisions, Axial planes, In to normal skin, Down to subcutaneous fat."

He finishes with the chest and moves to the face and neck cutting from the corners of the mouth to the chin and then diagonally from jaw to clavicle on each side. He looks up at you seemingly hoping for some sort of praise like you did for the residents but you simply put the laryngoscope back into the patient's mouth and put a bougie in after it. Once it's in and the RT puts him on the vent, his BP recovers and his lungs stabilize but only at 88%.

With the severity of his wounds it was up to the burn unit to determine his survival. "Anyone want to tell me what the next steps are?" Abbot asks.

"Go for a CT and calculate for fluid resuscitation that will occur for the next 24 hours." King says.

"Good." He gives her a thumbs up, "Nazely, when he comes back from CT, can we make that your job tonight?"

"Yeah, that's the Parkland formula, right?"

"Yes—" He says

"No—" You say.

You look at one another and you clear your throat, "You should use the modified Brook formula. Instead of 4 LR start with 2 LR in the formula. As the fluid resuscitation is happening, proceed with debridement, monitor volume input and output, and call the burn unit. Good work team."

You take off your gown and glasses off heading out to the central area. Abbot follows after you but before he can speak, Dr. Al-Hashimi interrupts. "Dr. Abbot, you seem to already have gotten acquainted with our new day attending, Dr. (Y/N)."

"We actually know each other." He says.

You purse your lips to prevent a scoff, "It's been a long time though, wouldn't you say, Abbot?" Your words stab with vitriol like a knife. You were upset, rightfully so.

"We, uh, went to med school together before I was deployed." He explains.

"I thought I would never see him again." You smile, "Who knew this is where he was the whole time." He felt you guilt tripping now. He hangs his head and forces a chuckle.

"Well, I'll leave you two to catch up." Al-Hashimi says, feeling the tension building, "I'll see you tomorrow."

You say good night then grab your own bag from behind the desk. "I should go to."

"Can we talk?" He says, "Before you go."

"Why? It's water under the bridge, Abbot. What happened, happened. There's nothing to change it, now."

You look around feeling eyes on you now. You sling your bag over your shoulder and head out through the ambulance bay. Abbot is close on your heels. Your lip quivers and tears sting your eyes as you are struck with the warm air of the night. You dig in your purse and pull out a cigarette.

You stick it in your mouth and flick your lighter to get it to ignite. Abbot watches taken aback. "When did you pick up that bad habit?"

Once it's lit, you take a long drag then you laugh, "You're funny. Still a god damn comedian." You shake your head, "You wanted to talk, so talk. You've got until I finish this, then I'm gone."

He shoves his hands in his pockets, "I'm sorry, I disappeared on you. I was going through it and I…" was scared of failing my wife.

"You can't even come up with a fucking excuse." You exhale flicking your ashes, "Look, I can be cordial. I can play nice in the office. But I am not going to do is act like we can go back to being friends again. I don't know who you are anymore! I haven't seen you since her funeral."

Another hit. He lowers his head in shame. "I understand."

"No, I don't think you do. I buried one of my closest friends not knowing I'd be losing the other one too. I had no one! No one told me if you were okay, where you went. I thought you died!" You take another drag, then another. you're close to the filter now.

"I'm sorry."

"Are you really?" You scoff, smoke escapes your mouth, "You know man, I just gotta ask, if I weren't here right now to confront you. Would you have continued to pretend I never existed?" You toss your bud on the floor and crush it under your foot, "Think about that before you act like my friend again."

With that, you walk down the lane into the darkness of the night. Abbot wipes a tear from his eye as he watches you go. When he longer can see you he turns back inside.

Abbot spends the rest of shift thinking about you. Now that you would be around, he must confront what he did. How he ran away from you because of a promise to his wife. It seems ridiculous to let a napkin hold so much power.

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

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